I buy about two e-books a day and try to finish at least three of those books a week. Lately, I've read a lot of books that have left me feeling unsettled--and that's what I want to blog about today.

RAPE.

It seems rape is trending in the book world right now, in multiple genres, and I'm a bit perplexed by its popularity as a theme. I understand rape is a gut-wrenching, tragic, and intense subject matter, so incorporating rape as a thematic story element sometimes makes sense.

But must it be so gratuitous? Why have I read so many books lately where rape was written in such a way as to grip readers--to entertain them--rather than inform them?

Every once in a while, I post an excerpt from my current Work In Progress--just to give you guys a little insight into my upcoming projects. This week's excerpt is from my YA/NA Fantasy title.

***

He tenses and for a moment I fear
he is going to run his sword through my chest. I cannot defeat him, not ever, and
I am foolish for continuing to provoke him. But he doesn't move. The fight in his eyes dissolves and he pulls his weapon back slightly.

“What did you
say?” His face softens in disbelief and I hate him for being so beautiful. Enemies should not be beautiful.

I grip my weapon tighter, too stubborn
and terrified to move as I repeat my name--the name that has him so perplexed. My breathing is more elevated than
before and my misty exhales cloud the air between us.

His gaze trails over me and he seems confused. Angry, even. When his eyes return to mine he pinches his lips and turns away from me, cursing into the wind. Why is he upset?

Why do I care?

With his back to me, he is vulnerable. I could pull back and swing and bring him to the ground. I could cut
through his chest and be on my way. He is my rival. This is what I should do.

I hesitate.

He turns back to me with a torn expression and, in that moment, staring into silver eyes that look just as frightened as I feel, I know I've already lost. Not because he is mightier than I, but because I am now more
curious of him than fearful.

I've spent this week working on my YA Fantasy title as well the sequel to SOPHIE & CARTER and every minute I spent writing made me feel alive. There were several days I stayed in my office all day without taking a break from my keyboard. <-- That's when the good stuff happens. :)

I failed at being "online" this week since I rarely checked my Facebook and Twitter feeds, but I just got so caught up with my stories! :) I'll try to do better next week.

My dreams this week:
* I want to learn to play the harp. Seriously.
* I want to get through the 1600 emails in my inbox this weekend. #mailfail
* And I want a reason to wear these shoes out in public. So if you're throwing a fabulous shoe party or something, let me know.

Hey guys! :) I think I might start posting an excerpt from whatever manuscript I'm working on every once in a while--just to give you guys a little insight into my upcoming projects. So here goes... ;)

This is from my New Adult contemporary WIP (work in progress) coming out later this year:

***

I didn’t know how to face Levi, so I
never did. And now here I am, living in the room next to his, trying to ignore all the things that come up between us. Like my scar.

And Charity.

And the magnetic heat that
magically appears whenever we're near one another…

Yeah. Lots of ignoring going on.

I finish showering and wrap a towel around my body before stepping into the hallway. Levi walks out of his room and our eyes meet.

At
first it’s really uncomfortable.

Like, Oh crap, I was hoping to avoid you for the rest of my life.

And then it’s normal.

Like, Hello, old friend whom I grew up with and trust with my life.

And then it’s dangerous.

Like, Can I help you out of your towel and slip you into something more
comfortable? Like my bed, perhaps?

His gaze strays from my face to my barely-covered body and, for a moment, the past doesn't exist. The pain. The only thing standing between us is the sexual tension filling up the hallway and dammit if it doesn't feel good to forget.

But then our eyes meet again and the corridor crowds with memories and guilt.
He stomps down the stairs as I stand barefoot and damp by the bathroom door, wondering if we'll ever be okay again. We're broken--we're completely broken--and it's all my fault.